Mad Aunt Bernards Tortoise Poetry

"The page to come and visit for a fabulously sensible intake of poetry straight from the divinest of inspiration - and it's only a bit tortoisy. A cracking good read if you're under anaesthetic."Lord Elpus - The Guardian

Saturday, October 31

Madame Widdershins McMunter's Prediction!!

Saints preserve us! Not content with a simple Wiccan ceremony this Samhain, my elder sibling has insisted that this swaying, rolling-eyed, seventh daughter of next door's dog of a psychic is foisted upon us all.

Aunt Gourd (pictured, left) has gone all mystical and wispy at the first sign of a fat moon, and decided that she'll follow in the footsteps of our clan. She became all premonitious on Wednesday, and went to see Madame Widdershins McMunter (pictured right with Uncle Nancy, reading his palm and telling him he's got Buckley's chance of finding a bird unless he shapes up and moves out of his mothers). Shrieks and wringing of hands claim that the woman is a marvel and totally accurate. (I'm not so sure, and as the neighbourhood kids say - chinny reckon...)Not content with that, she invited her round to my hedge, along with all the others for a group reading....I was planning on a night in with X-Factor, a fresh brew of goats rue tea, and a lovely gator recipe from Jamie Oliver's cookbook, some prayers and blessings, but that idea has been totally buggered. I've stepped out of the excitement to post this as I'm bored and frustrated, so my readers are carrying the great weight of being my comfort in time of stress. That's both of you, by the way, so don't either of you sneak off.It started at six, when they all arrived. Aunt Vom reckons the whole thing is bollocks but she's sitting on the bench anyway, just for a giggle (not on Aunt Bench, I might add). Folly is blessedly quiet at the moment, I've given her some hemlock and some dead stag beetles to play with. If she likes them, I might make her a gift of it for her 34th birthday next month. It's either that or anything non-explosive or flammable.Aunt Turgid is cross, as she couldn't bring her lizards in, apparently lizards interrupt the mystical signals and attract negative deities. The lizards seem oblivious to this, but didn't mind waiting in the motorcar.Aunt Mary Jaffa is ok, there are no satsumas (I won't even recall the Christingle service episode).Aunt Bench is sitting worrying about whether she'll ever have another child. God help us....Cousin Girda isn't here as she said, if they psychic was that good, she'd have known she couldn't make it and would have sent her a telegram with any relevant bits.Aunt Claymore is not impressed, and boycotted the event under allegations of 'wickedness' and 'horror'.So dear friends, my simple Wiccan ceremony of prayers, blessings and a little feast, has been hijacked and turned into a circus. The only genuine witch at the table is despondent, bored and can't wait for them to go.The toads are fed up, too, and are quietly playing 'snap' in the corner with my special edition '007 Quantum of Solace' playing cards. They are so well behaved when Mummy's busy.Madame McMunter started by getting us all to place a personal object on the table that she could grope in the slim chance of finding any vibrations. I doubt the woman would find any vibrations from an Ann Summers purchase, but there you go. In my opinion, she's all jingly bangles, rings, and gin breath and bugger all else.I went first, and put my wooden teeth on the table. Apparently, I am a woman, I live in a hedge, and I have a predisposition to living in draughty places. My two children are ugly (I suppose you could count the toads). My three lovers are warring for my affections (!), and I am about to win the lottery. I have a strong connection to 'Albert' (a bat who lives locally) and a yen for chicken bhuna. I hope she doesn't know it was my bhuna that killed Folly's tortoise, but she then lost credibility when she said I would be on the cover of Marie Claire having beaten Cheryl Cole as the prettier option. Ok. Tell it to the Marines, Lady.Aunt Vom put a set of nunchucks on the table, and the mad psychic said she is about to be repaid for her kindnesses to the community, she is viewed as an angel amongst sinners. I nearly peed my sack dress at this one, she's only just out of the nick for nutting a copper.Aunt Mary Jaffa put a thimble down, and it was said that she is 'special'. Well, we knew that.Aunt Turgid put her bicycle on the table, which really ticked me off as it's leaking oil. She is about to get a degree in astrophysics, and pioneer research into the function of the nostril. I could believe anything where she's concerned.Aunt Bench put a wankel rotary engine on the table, and the woman got lots of messages from it. Unfortunately, none were for her except that she is to only have the one child (we all clapped at this bit). Sad for her, but when Folly starts setting fire to your feet under the table, this is no joking matter. What made me laugh was Aunt Gourds 'ooohs' and 'aaaahs' when Madam McMunter voiced quite accurately that the spirits told her that Bench's only daughter was a girl.The upshot is, after a lot of guessing, and waving and wailing, was that the woman is a fraud. I did have a premonition when she arrived, which has proved to be correct. That was a hard earned £50 down the shitter.I've booted them out, I've missed X-factor, but my ugly children are on my knee and we're watching 'Live At The Apollo' on 'Dave'. It will have to do.Bugger the prayers and blessings, I've got a gator steak on the hot plate.....

(By the way....Madame McMunter's premonitions are not that good it seems. On leaving us in a clapped out motor decked with all manner of pentacles, gods, goddesses and owl talismans, she failed to predict an oncoming steam roller at the Trebollocks M5 roundabout and was promptly flattened. Rescue workers peeled her off the road, intact, and tucked her into a giant jiffy bag to be posted to the lab for investigation. With the postal strike, I doubt she'll get there before next Wednesday.)

Samhain blessings to you all, and may your gibbon snibblings be fruitious for the coming winter....MAB x

like most things on all hallow's eve... it sounds like you had a bit of a let down. I was hoping to be confronted by inumerous little young people wanting sugar things.. but alas! living up a mountain down a dead end lane tends to put them off.. shame really... the dog is starving!

Oh dear MAB - what an awful and very frustrating evening you had. I do hope you have recovered by now - if not, do try a soothing distillation of dried viper's bugloss, vervain and finely chopped kumquats steeped in gin. If you use enough gin it is most efficacious.

Watercats, you could set traps in the surrounding area, I'm sure no-one would notice a couple of halflings going missing....:-oMum, thanks, I'll try that...keep the herbs and fruit, though, the gin will suffice!

I got here just in time then. It's Wednesday, so the lab must have McMunter by now. Keep me apprized; I do so love a good post mortem. I expect it may be difficult to get the innards out when they've been compressed like that. Perhaps if they attach a vac to the jiffy bag and blow her up again?

Count your blessings,MAB. I can't get a seance together for the life of me, on account of nobody wanting to risk holding hands with me at close quarters. I feel a bit of a fool sitting all by myelf, saying, "Is anybody there?" when there obviously isn't. And I washed my neck special.

What a fabulous idea...I will put my hair up, like sophia loren, and wear my best woven sack. And I'll sing 'Song 2' by Blur. I do that well. Or it might be 'Lip Up Fatty', I do like Bad Manners. So what would everyone else sing?I think Feck should wear an evening gown of emerald taffeta and do a Susan Boyle with his special mask on....

Flying Saucers??

Children in the 1800's were told that these stationary tortoises were 'flying saucers' that had simply broken down, and were allowed to work on them in their garages after school. They never got them started and were told by adults that they couldn't order the right parts.

Inclement Mood

Never tell a tortoise he has a 'wattly chin'. They get very upset and and are the fifth animal most likely to start road rage incidents.

-
*Precious Stones*
I made a pile of gems for every nation
Each stone was perfect truth, beyond compare
And then I sent each race an invitation
It said, “Ple...

3 years ago

Juan De La Vega

Juan De La Vega was very surprised when the tortoise, who'd been dormant for three hours, suddenly pounced and killed him on it's pointy horns. It apparently didn't like red rags, and didn't feel like 'coming out of his shell'.

Tortoise Day

Hoorah! Tortoise Day - Taken by Mrs Enid Rack of the Reptile Wives' Club

Tortoise Polo

Children became weary of this passtime, it never delivered the speeds it promised, and a proper mallet was never provided. It was a fib, perpetuated by adults - it was the flying saucers all over again.